


Between a Hard Place and You

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to thefirstpromise saying about <a href="http://s160.beta.photobucket.com/user/Like_Vines/media/Ryan%20Brendon/ryanbrendon17.jpg.html">this</a> picture that: Oooooo, I want fic where Ryan fucks Brendon against a wall and is stronger than he looks and Brendon's freaking out until Ryan tugs on Brendon's knees and gets his legs up around his waist and Brendon doesn't fall to the floor. He's amazed and also turned on so much it hurts. And then orgasms happen and Ryan is smug. The end.<br/>This fic is something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between a Hard Place and You

They’ve been fucking for a couple weeks now. Brendon makes himself think of it as fucking, because that’s safe. That’s allowed. He’s not going to kid himself, or try to couch it in pretty terms. Ryan’s a pretty sexual guy, and he’d been without a girlfriend for a couple months, and it was inevitable that he’d get horny. Brendon’s just glad he was the one around when Ryan finally snapped.

Neither of them have said anything about it. It just happens, and then when it’s over, it’s _over_. Ryan hasn’t been cold, or particularly distant. He’ll cuddle up with Jon and Spencer on the sofa, but he doesn’t even react when Brendon lays himself out over all their laps. Rolls his eyes indulgently when Brendon puts an arm around him. Turns his face into Jon’s shoulder and lets Brendon kiss his cheek. He just doesn’t acknowledge the sex when it isn’t happening. 

And, okay, _fucking_ might be a stretch, even. Fooling around might be a better way to phrase it. Only, using the phrase ‘fooling around’ makes Brendon feel about fifty years old. But no one’s dick has been in anyone’s ass. Mostly it’s been awkward handjobs at tight angles, and Ryan likes it when Brendon goes down on him. Fair enough. Brendon’s pretty sure he’d like it if Ryan went down on him. Still, he’s not going to push his luck. 

Sometimes, when it’s late at night and he can’t sleep because Ryan has no sense of personal _boundaries_ (what a laugh, right? Everyone always accuses Brendon of being the touchy-feely one), Brendon can’t stop thinking. About how fucking pathetic he is. Like a twelve year old girl with her first crush. It’s been five years, for fuck sake. There is no reason he should still be holding on to this…thing he has for Ryan. Especially when it’s pretty damn obvious that Ryan’s using him for sex. Which, don’t misunderstand, Brendon is really psyched about. 

It’s just-- _ryan shifts in his sleep, nose nuzzling brendon’s neck_ \--Brendon’s thought about this a lot-- _brendon has to grit is teeth because he_ wants _so badly_ \--since he became aware that his feelings toward Ryan weren’t ones sixteen year old guys generally had about their male friends-- _it aches_. And in all his imaginings— _he wants to be the one to initiate it for once_ —it was never something he’d been ashamed of— _wants to roll ryan over, line their bodies up_ —doing. He’d held out hope forever— _slow. He wants a kiss that doesn’t make his mouth sting_ —and he’s trying really damn hard not to be ungrateful. 

It might even hurt less if Ryan _was_ weird about it after. It might mean he acknowledges that there’s more going on than a purely physical act. A voice in his head that sounds like a particularly bitchy Spencer tells Brendon to quit being a greedy bitch.

So, he goes with it, right? Who _wouldn’t_.

They’re on stage and Brendon always feels like he’s melting under the lights. When he’s high, he imagines he’s wax and Ryan has shaped him into what he is. 

Everyone looks at them and has these ideas about who they are, what role they play in the group dynamic—Jon’s the mellow, easy-going dude; Spencer’s the one in charge; Brendon’s the spaz who never takes anything seriously; and oh, dear fragile Ryan. Look at him the wrong way and he’ll break. 

Well, everyone’s pretty much dead wrong about that last. Ryan doesn’t break. Brendon wouldn’t even know why anyone would want to try. But Ryan seems to attract people who want their chance, from his parents right down to Keltie. And Brendon isn’t trying to be a bitch about that. Keltie wasn’t trying to begin with. 

The point is, a lot of people have tried, and it doesn’t work. Ryan doesn’t break. Ryan breaks other people. Brendon’s been broken so many times, he just wishes that Ryan had done a better job to begin with and shattered him at the start. Maybe if there were too many pieces, Brendon would stop trying to put them back together. 

There’s a sudden pressure at Brendon’s back and it startles him out of his thoughts. When they started as a band, Brendon had been so full of stage fright and nerves, it never would have occurred to him that there would come a time when he’d be so comfortable in his skin that he could just sing and play while his mind was somewhere else entirely. 

Ryan’s tilted into him, hip in the small of Brendon’s back. Brendon’s still not used to this. Staged gay is one thing. And Brendon’s pretty used to invading Ryan’s corner of the stage. Brendon and Jon are both cool with playing to each other and moving around, but this new Ryan, who invades _Brendon’s_ space... Whatever, Brendon’s not ever going to get used to it. 

Then Ryan rests his head on Brendon’s shoulder, angling his neck and Brendon turns his head, careful to keep the mic between their mouths as Ryan comes in for the chorus. It’s weird, but now that they're doing this whole not-quite-fucking thing, Brendon has an even more difficult time being close to Ryan. He wants the song to end, or Ryan to go back to his own goddamned mic, or whatever. But this. Playfulness. Brendon can’t take it. It feels way more staged than any almost kisses. 

So Brendon makes stupid faces and sings along, ignores how much he likes the way Ryan harmonises with him. They finish the chorus and Ryan’s shoulder digs into Brendon’s back the way it always does right before he pushes off. As he goes, he presses a kiss into Brendon’s neck, behind the ear, right at his hairline. 

Brendon’s really glad he isn’t singing when it happens. He doesn’t want to look, but he _does_. Ryan’s smiling, fierce and unguarded. He spins around to meet Jon and the two of them play to each other. 

It has to stop. Brendon has to tell him. Just. He can’t. He can’t keep doing this. It’s going to break him. 

They finish the encore and backstage is the same fucked mess it always is, techs and musicians running around, getting in each other’s way. Spence and Jon are giggling about something when Brendon makes his way back to the dressing room. Spencer stops laughing when he sees Brendon, but there’s still a smile tugging at his lips. 

Jon whispers at him and they start up with the giggling again. They push out of the room past him. Spencer shouts something over his shoulder about Twizzlers and rum. 

Ryan shuts the door behind them and the chaotic sounds from the stage are muted a little. Brendon doesn’t want to look. He knows he’s going to let it happen. He knows he doesn’t really want to stop it happening. Ryan crowds against his back and this time there isn’t a guitar between them. Brendon ends up face first against the wall next to the makeup table and he can see them reflected in the mirror out of the corner of his eye. 

They make a nice picture, he thinks distantly. Ryan’s hair is curling with sweat and his makeup is a little smudged. Ryan’s look can range from ridiculous to adorable to fucking sex on really skinny legs, and he’s channelling that last one just now. And Brendon. He catches his own eye, sees his mouth bright red and open, panting. He looks desperate. 

Ryan wraps his arms around Brendon and starts on the buttons of shirt. He fits his whole body right up against Brendon and the hopeless romantic in Brendon thinks Ryan might be trying to get _inside_ of him. Not in, like, fucking. But, like, in his skin. Ryan’s got his face in Brendon’s neck again, not kissing really, or biting, but his mouth is open and moving. It takes Brendon a second to realise Ryan’s speaking. 

“…you don’t even fucking know…Jesus, Brendon.” 

Brendon doesn’t know if he’s supposed to hear it, or understand. He turns his head a little and makes an inquisitive noise and suddenly Ryan’s mouth is covering his. Ryan’s kisses are…well, okay, everything about what they do is sort of violent. Brendon doesn’t think Ryan’s _trying_ to hurt him. Just, maybe, it doesn’t occur to Ryan to be any other way. His kisses are the roughest. Ryan likes to bite. He makes sure Brendon know who’s been kissing him. 

The twist against each other, and the angle is all wrong. Brendon pushes back and Ryan relents, lets him turn around, pushing Brendon’s shirt open as the last button comes free. His hands are hot and damp on Brendon’s skin. They don’t stroke. His touch is like his kiss—he pinches and he scratches and sometimes, Brendon would swear Ryan’s trying to push his fingers _into_ Brendon’s chest. 

Undressing happens really fast, but Brendon takes it in flashes—memories to save for later. The arch of Ryan’s back when he takes off his shirt, the reveal of flat stomach and sharp hipbones and the way Ryan’s thumb looks hooked in the waistband of his jeans. Then Brendon’s pushed back into the wall again, and he doesn’t know if Ryan thinks the wall’s going to suddenly give, or something, but seriously. They can’t get any closer. 

Brendon blinks and Ryan isn’t in his face anymore and it takes a second for Brendon to realize that Ryan’s got on his knees. This is new. “What—” 

Ryan sucks two fingers into his mouth and looks up at Brendon from beneath floppy curls and thick lashes. “What does it look like?” Ryan asks lazily, when he draws his fingers out. There’s a little line of spit between them and Ryan’s mouth, and Brendon shouldn’t find it so hot, right? 

Brendon doesn’t have time for thoughts or protest, because Ryan sucks the tip of Brendon’s dick between his lips just about the same time he gets two spit-slick fingers up Brendon’s ass. Brendon makes an embarrassing sound and his knees buckle a little. 

And this? None of this is making Brendon’s resolution to end things any easier. He was entirely resigned to be the one giving the blowjobs, not receiving them and this. This is—Ryan twists his fingers deeper and there’s a burn that hurts like fuck and Brendon wants more—this is nice. 

Ryan has this habit of letting his mouth hang open when he’s thinking, and Brendon’s idly thought of having his cock in there. Who wouldn’t? But Ryan’s experience tends toward the heterosexual. And by tends toward, Brendon actually means, has strictly been. He didn’t expect Ryan to be so _good_ at this. In fact, he was a little worried that, given the violence of Ryan’s kiss, his blowjob technique might have more teeth than Brendon liked. 

But Ryan just _deep-throats_ him like it was nothing and sucks. His fingers are rough and unpracticed, but he still manages to find Brendon’s prostate. Brendon groans and loses the battle to keep his eyes open. His head hits the wall with a painful thump, but it isn’t enough to distract from the pleasure. 

It doesn’t last very long before Ryan’s letting him go, slipping his fingers free. Brendon makes a sound of protest, eyes fluttering open. Usually Ryan’s sure and steady, but his legs tremble a little as he stands. He runs a hand up the outside of Brendon’s thigh, and for a second his touch is gentle and everything Brendon wants. Then his hand closes around Brendon’s hip hard enough to bruise and he pushes close again. 

“I want to fuck you,” Ryan whispers. His stubble burns the skin along Brendon’s jaw, his breath is hot on Brendon’s ear. Brendon just nods, because he can’t disagree. 

Brendon’s thinking couch, or at least chair or table, but Ryan licks his own palm and fists it around his cock. Brendon can’t help but think about how badly that’s going to sting—if not now, then definitely later. But if it gives him something to remember this when he’s alone in his bunk, he won’t protest. 

Ryan’s hand is on Brendon’s thigh again and he bends enough to catch Brendon’s knee and lift. “This isn’t—this won’t—” _work_ , Brendon thinks, but Ryan cuts him off with a kiss. He has to bend his knees to get himself lined up right to get inside Brendon, but once he’s there, pressed against Brendon’s ass, he straightens up and pushes right in. 

The force of it lifts Brendon off his other foot and he’s just sure Ryan’s going to crumble under his weight and they’re both going to fall. Ryan shifts his hips and gives a little thrust and the angle is better. He slides in more easily. They sway for a second before Ryan gets his balance back. 

“Ry—this won’t work.” 

Ryan licks his lips. He has this look on concentration on his face. He nips at Brendon’s mouth and flicks him a brief glance. “It will.” 

“It won’t,” Brendon argues. “I’m gonna—” Ryan bucks his hips and Brendon can’t think. When he remembers that he has a tongue capable of speech, he says, “I’m gonna fall.” 

“You’re _not_ —” _thrust_ “gonna” _bite_ “fall,” Ryan gasps into Brendon’s open mouth. Brendon has to close his eyes. It’s too much, too good, and at least this way he won’t see disaster happen. 

Ryan tugs on Brendon’s knee again, lifting it higher. It lets him get deeper. “Put your legs around me,” Ryan whispers. He’s got this jerky rhythm going on. He can’t move very much with their current position, but the friction is amazing. 

“I’m too—you’re too skinny, Ryan, I’ll break you,” Brendon protests wildly. He wishes he could get his foot on the ground or against the wall or _something_ so he’d have some leverage, some way to grind down. 

Ryan makes this sound, sort of a cross between a growl of frustration and a chuckle that sends shivery heat up the back of Brendon’s skull. “You’re not going to fucking break me. Brendon. Put your _fucking legs_ around me.” 

When Ryan says things in that tone of voice, you just _do_ them. Counts double if he’s fucking you at the time. It’s going to end in tragedy and maybe broken body parts, and—can you sprain a dick? 

Brendon lifts his other leg and has a moment when the world spins and tilts. Ryan gets a hand on Brendon’s ass, fingers digging in. Brendon wraps his arms around Ryan’s shoulders and can feel Ryan trembling from the weight. “I’m gonna f—”

Ryan shuts him up with a twist of hips that gets him in to the hilt. Brendon bites his own tongue and locks his ankles around Ryan’s hips. And somehow, they don’t fall. Brendon makes a surprised sound and Ryan answers it with a smirk. Brendon can’t help but kiss it. 

Then, there’s this shift. Between one movement and the next, it changes. Ryan turns—not gentle, exactly, but tender. He lips at Brendon’s mouth and for being a pretty tame kiss it is _insanely_ hot. Brendon melts into it, and he’d be lying if he said Ryan hasn’t been shaping him for the past five years. Why should this be any different? 

Ryan starts to strain under the weight, but he doesn’t give. The muscles in his arms stand out in stark relief and it looks _really_ good. His breath goes shallow and he rests his forehead against Brendon’s and just _stares_. Brendon can’t look away. He’s captivated. He isn’t high, but he feels like he is. Feels like he’s floating. 

There are half-thoughts forming in Brendon’s mind and gone within seconds. Thoughts about sharing Ryan’s breath. He’s thinking about all those times Ryan’s pressed his fingers into Brendon’s skin and wondering if maybe Ryan _was_ trying to get inside. Maybe this is a consolatory prize. 

Brendon thinks he’s never going to be able to pretend this didn’t happen. He’s thinking he can’t be casual around Ryan after this. He’s thinking this changes _everything_. Ryan takes his hand off Brendon’s knee and pushes him harder against the wall to keep him from slipping. There is no way he should be able to hold Brendon up one armed, but apparently Ryan Ross possesses superhuman strength. And really, Brendon’s not going to complain, because Ryan’s using his new free hand to grab Brendon’s cock. 

Brendon thinks _this is a mistake_ and comes so fucking hard he’s worried he’s going to pass out. Ryan grunts and bites Brendon’s jaw and just holds on, rides through Brendon’s orgasm and then he’s coming too. His legs give out, but he keeps Brendon against the wall and they sort of slide to the floor together, Brendon in Ryan’s lap. 

Ryan has his arms around Brendon’s back, holding him close but loose. His hands feel clammy against Brendon’s spine. Brendon doesn’t understand why, but it feels nice. Comforting. His jaw tingles where Ryan bit him. 

They have to get up. They’ve been here too long anyway. Spencer and Jon are probably wondering what’s taking them so long and if someone finds them like this, Ryan will probably never talk to him again. But Brendon doesn’t _want_ to move. He’s sore and shaky and he feels _amazing_. He’s closer to Ryan than he’s ever been. For a moment there, before he came and everything fell apart, he felt like he was about to understand something important. 

Ryan’s fingers sweep up Brendon’s shoulder, up his throat, close around his jaw. He twists Brendon’s face until they’re kissing, slow and hot and full of promise. Like they’re just starting. 

Someone’s phone starts buzzing from the pile of clothing beside them. It’s probably Spencer, bitching at them. Ryan’s kiss turns hard again. He bites down on Brendon’s bottom lip and smacks Brendon’s hip. 

Brendon gets up on shaky legs. He just leans against the wall for a minute, watching Ryan dress. He feels different, hollow, or something. Ryan’s come is slowly sliding out of him. Brendon’s never had sex without a condom and he isn’t really sure he likes the sensation but it’s _Ryan’s_. 

Ryan sits in a chair to put his shoes back on and the sight jerks Brendon into action. They’ve been quiet for so long, and he’s not going to be the one to break the silence. He scrambles around to gather his clothes and he knows anyone who looks at him is going to know he’s just been fucked. 

He catches Ryan’s eye in the mirror as finishes doing up his jeans. Ryan’s standing by the door, head is tilted to the side, just watching. Ryan has this way of smiling that’s entirely with his eyes, and he’s doing it right now. Brendon’s stomach turns over. He doesn’t know how to take any of this. Ryan leaves before Brendon can ask. It’s for the best. Brendon doesn’t know how to phrase the question. 

It’s later, in his bunk when the ache has fully set in and Brendon still doesn’t know. Ryan’s just been _Ryan_ all night, like nothing’s different. He puts his hand in Brendon’s hair while they watch a movie, but Brendon gets up quickly to get a drink. Ryan puts his head on Brendon’s shoulder and Brendon goes tense, so Ryan lays his head on Jon’s shoulder instead. 

Normally, Brendon would like the attention, but he just can’t take it right now. It’s too familiar. It’s too much like it’s always been. He doesn’t understand how Ryan can be so fucking casual about things. He needs to say something. He needs to draw the line. It would be easier if he hadn’t just let Ryan fuck him up the ass. 

He’s going to do it in the morning. He’s resolved. It doesn’t help him sleep. Instead, he’s staring at the curtain, as if it holds the secrets of the universe, or at least the secrets to Ryan Ross’s head. 

The curtain draws back and there’s Ryan Ross’s head. He has a hesitant expression but he climbs in without welcome. Ryan murmurs, “Hey.” 

Brendon nods his head and clutches his pillow. “Hey.” 

Ryan lays his head down inches from Brendon’s, so close Brendon can’t quite focus on Ryan’s eyes. He puts an arm over Brendon’s waist and tangles their feet together. Ryan’s eyes drift closed and he makes a soft, discontent sound. For a stretch of time that seems like years, there is silence between them. 

Then Ryan lets out a sigh. Brendon opens his eyes he hadn’t even been aware of closing and looks at him. “I’m going to fuck everything up,” Ryan whispers. Brendon blinks owlishly. Ryan sighs again. “I know. I already have. But.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight and shoves his face into Brendon’s throat. 

Brendon hugs him and starts saying words he doesn’t mean. They aren’t true. “It’s okay,” he says. “You haven’t fucked anything up,” he says. 

“Don’t let this mess us up,” Ryan says. 

“It’s okay,” Brendon repeats tonelessly. He doesn’t even know what okay is anymore, but if Ryan wants to pretend like it didn’t happen—if this is what will make them better—if this is what will keep them friends—Brendon will do it. 

“I thought—but if—” Ryan has this bad habit of not finishing sentences. Sometimes Brendon thinks he’s merely distracted. This is different. Brendon wonders idly if he’s unintentionally managed to succeed where all those who tried to break Ryan failed before. 

“We’re okay,” Brendon says. It comes out fervent and his arms tighten around Ryan convulsively. Brendon kisses his hair. 

Ryan shakes and fists his hands in Brendon’s shirt. “I’m sorry…I don’t think I can…”

Brendon pulls back hastily. He's always going too far. He opens his mouth, ready to say anything to keep Ryan close. “I’m sorry—”

“ _Brendon_ ,” Ryan breathes. “I love you too much.” 

It takes a second for Brendon to process the words because they’re so different from anything he could expect. Ryan draws further into himself, hands still clutching but body curved away from Brendon’s. 

Brendon can be remarkably slow. It’s the first time he’s even considered they’re having two different conversations. The first time he’s considered they’re seeing this affair in the same way. But Brendon’s transparent as anything. It’s Ryan who’s always saying so. Ryan has to see the way Brendon looks at him. 

Except Ryan’s cringing and looking somewhere near Brendon’s shoulder and Ryan, he can be so stupid. Sometimes, Ryan doesn’t see anything. 

Brendon laughs. In the silence it’s way too loud. Ryan glances up, eyes dry but red. He has a wary expression, like he’s expecting to be turned out at any moment. Brendon isn’t sure how their situations became reversed. He’s pretty sure _he’s_ the one supposed to be hopelessly in love. Mostly since he _is_ hopelessly in love. They’re both fucking hopeless. 

Once he starts laughing, he can’t stop. All the anxiety and fear is gone in a second and he feels so _relieved_. Laughing is all he can do. He rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder and hugs him and laughs. 

He can feel Ryan tense. He can practically _hear_ the questions running through Ryan’s mind. Hesitant fingers curl in Brendon’s hair and Brendon doesn’t pull away. The tickle runs down his spine, beginning at Ryan’s touch. 

“What?” Ryan asks, slowly. Maybe slightly hopeful and insecure at the same time. 

“Ryan,” Brendon says, and looks at him, rolls his eyes. “You—the fucking—” He laughs again and shakes his head. “You idiot.” 

Ryan doesn’t look hurt yet, but he very clearly has an option on it. He’s waiting. 

Brendon bumps their foreheads together, gives Ryan an Eskimo kiss. “We’re okay. _I_ love _you_ ,” Brendon explains. There’s one way it’s supposed to go, and it’s _this_ way. 

Ryan just stares at him, the same way he did when he was fucking Brendon. The memory makes Brendon’s cock stir. Then Ryan sort of _crumples_. He doesn’t cry. Ryan never does. But he buries his face in Brendon’s chest and shakes. 

Brendon kisses his hair again. He does so with a sudden realisation that he’s allowed, now. This is different than the kisses Jon or Spencer might press into Ryan’s hair. Brendon’s never really been jealous of them, and he’s not about to start now. This is just _different_. He, personally, might consider it better

“We’re okay,” Brendon whispers. 

Ryan lifts his head. His eyes are glittering. His kiss is different than any of his other kisses. No less fierce, but gentler. The edges are softened, and somehow the intent is clearer.

Later, when he doesn’t have Ryan in his arms, Brendon’s going to need to think back on all their touches, all their kisses, all of it, and maybe reassess. 

Right now he has more important things to focus on. Ryan’s hands have unclenched and wormed beneath Brendon’s shirt. His fingertips are digging into Brendon’s chest, over his heart, like he wants in. Brendon grabs his wrist, twists, slides their hands together, tangles their fingers. 

“You’re already there,” Brendon murmurs into the kiss. Ryan makes a soft humming sound and his body goes limp along Brendon’s, urgency gone. He kisses Brendon like a slow burn. Like a promise. 

“You’re already here,” Brendon says.


End file.
